


Memories

by ThatsrightZoeyeyye



Category: StarKid Productions RPF, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Henry reminisces the old college days, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22321918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatsrightZoeyeyye/pseuds/ThatsrightZoeyeyye
Summary: Thirty or fourty years before, lying piss drunk on a couch, with Greg sitting on his legs and Leighton laying on the floor next to him, laughing loudly as Steve, Marc and Chad shared a joint and an armchair, Henry had told them about his musical for the first time.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkid writes discord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=starkid+writes+discord).



> prompt: "memories" for the starkid writes discord server  
> i basically wrote this last minute because i felt like writing. i don't know what this is, but it exists, so,  
> there you go  
> (i put it teen and up audiences bc of mentions of alcohol and drugs, don't want the kids to do stupid stuff. remember kids, drugs aren't fun, they fuck you your brain's development and have lots of bad effects. be careful with alcohol too)

Thirty or fourty years before, lying piss drunk on a couch, with Greg sitting on his legs and Leighton laying on the floor next to him, laughing loudly as Steve, Marc and Chad shared a joint and an armchair, Henry had told them about his musical for the first time. Stu was face-timing from Greg's phone. He couldn't be there because he had missed his bus back to campus after a week end at his parents' ("my name is short for stupid," he had said, "i thought it was at 3:30 pm but it was actually 2:30"). Leighton had laughed. He found many thing funny when he was drunk. The half-empty vodka bottle in his hands told a story of its own.

Henry was very secretive about his hobbies. Most boys his age didn't share his unlimited love for musical theatre, and he was terrified of losing his friends. Terrified of losing his Friday nights in the beat up old house at the edge of college campus, their evenings on the football field. For the first time in his life, he had friends. He would do anything not to lose them.

But he was drunk. They all were. Leighton hadn't stopped giggling in the last twenty minutes, nearly crying from the jokes he seemed to share with the ceiling lamp. Henry's defenses had lowered, and hehad told them. Blurted it out, impulsively, dragging and slurring the words.

"Hey guys, did you know, guys guys guys, did you know, I'm writing a musical?"

Stu had turned to him, eyes wide.

"Man, really?" he had exclaimed.

Henry's chest had tightened with anxiety, but Stu eyes were singing with excitement, and so were everyone else's.

"That is so cool!" Marc had said, and Greg had nodded aggressively, like he always did when he was excited.

So Henry had told them the plot. It was just an outline at the time, really. A group of business men who missed their college days, and reunited one Friday afternoon at five o'clock. He didn't know yet the details of what would happen, but he'd already written the title number. None of the characters even had names.

"Come on, man, you gotta sing it to us now!" Steve had whispered, since he seemed to only be able to whisper when he was high.

So Henry had sung it to them. He disliked singing a capella, but he was drunk, and giddy at the realisation that his friends cared and that weren't making fun of him because he liked musical theatre. Singing while lying on a couch definitely wasn't ideal, but his friends didn't care.

"Stocks, bons, golden parachutes," he had spat dramatically into an imaginary phone, and they all burst out laughing.

"Did you really have to imitate Mr. Whitman's voice?" Marc had asked in between two giggles, remembering his biology professor's overt hate for all economics-related topics.

"I'm not going to lie, he was my main inspiration," Henry had laughed, and Leighton had rolled around on the floor.

"Are you going to add his little 'and.... Chad'?"

Steve had whispered, and Marc's rare laughter had filled the room. Mr. Whitman had the unexplained habit of handing out copies in alphabetical order, and, in the past few years, they had all grown accustomed to his dramatic tone every time he reached Chad Zuckoviztk's copy.

"Man, man," Stu had exclaimed, "you gotta make the characters us!"

"Would you guys be okay with that?" Henry had asked. He had considered the idea before, but he thought they would find it weird.

"That would be so cool," Chad had said.

ooo

  
Three weeks later, as Henry met with his friends on the edge of the football field, like he did every day, Steve had asked him about the musical.

"I didn't know you guys actually cared," Henry had admitted sheepishly. Sober, his defenses set themselves up again. What if they had only found it cool because they were drunk?

"That's ridiculous!" Marc had snorted, "our friend is going to become a rockstar, of course we care!"

"Will you still spend time with stupid old us when you're famous?" Leighton had asked, puppy-eyed, and Henry had scoffed.

"You guys are the best," he had smiled.

"Are we good enough for autographs, then?" Chad had asked.

"I can tell you about the musical tonight if you guys want," Henry had said, "right now, it's time for football."

"Come on guys," Stu had exclaimed, "let's toss that pig skin around."

"For the love of all that is holy," Steve had sighed,

"will you please stop calling it that?"

"Not as long as I live," Stu had chuckled, and Marc had thrown the ball in his face.

ooo

  
Thirty or fourty years later, as he performed in front of an audience for the first in what seemed like forever, he poured his heart and soul in the song.

He was drunk, not on alcohol (god forbid he start drinking in the middle of the apocalypse) but on the nostalgia of the old college days and adrenaline. If someone had told him, back then, that he would lose touch with his friends barely a few years after a college, he would have thought they were mad, that nothing could ever keep him and his boys apart. He was wrong.

"Hamilton, move over," he sung, "your new competition's in town."

He could almost hear the cheers of an audience.

"Hey, Henry," a voice rung out, and he turned to it.

A man stood in the doorframe. A kind, reassuring smile, with short dark hair and caramel skin.

"Greg, is it really you?" Henry asked disbelievingly. Greg had come for him, after decades of being apart. He couldn't believe his eyes.

He faintly heard Emma's voice, but his mind rejected the thought. He was drawn to Greg.

"Been a long time," he said softly, and Henry nodded, tears of joy filling his eyes.

"Hey boys," an other voice called, "wanna toss that pig skin around?"

Henry turned, and Stu stood right there, a few feet away from him, so close.

"Stu! You haven't aged a day!" Henry exclaimed, amazed by how young Stu still looked, even in his fifties.

"Is it five o'clock already? It must be!"

"Come on Henry," Greg chuckled softly, "we've got some catching up to do."

And the three of them, instinctively, started singing. Henry couldn't believe they still remembered the lyrics. He was happier than he had ever been before.


End file.
